


Gratitude

by acerbitas



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Belts, Everything Hurts, Lima Syndrome, M/M, Master/Servant, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, One Hundred Percent Horrible, Psychological Torture, Spanking, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 03:50:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acerbitas/pseuds/acerbitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ramsay promised to punish Reek in the morning.  Reek is terrified and cannot sleep all night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gratitude

**Author's Note:**

> Everything hurts and I am dying.

Dawn crept over the kennels.  The further the sun rose in the sky, the worse Reek’s tremors became.  He knew what horror was coming in the morning—hurt, terrible hurt.  Ramsay was going to punish him for something.  Something he couldn’t remember, but something he’d done nonetheless.  His fear had strangled any hope of sleep.

Before Reek had left for his bed with the dogs that night, Ramsay had gripped his arm and yanked him back against Ramsay’s chest.    His breath had been heavy against Reek’s neck when he had told him he deserved to be flayed, and to look forward to his punishment in the morning.  There had been reasons why, bad mistakes Reek had made, but terror had eaten at Reek’s memories until it was all he had left.

Theon had fantasized about an exit before morning came.  This was usually during the darkest night, when evil thoughts came unbidden to his mind.  He had had his escape fantasy, the point of crawling towards the bolt that held him by his collar to the pen and examining it.  His fervor had died abruptly when all that yanking did was send pain racing down his thin shoulders and reopen an old wound on his hand.  The coming failure would have been obvious to anyone not half-starved and terrified, but Reek was both of those things.

Morning had come, and he was still in the pen with the dogs.  He was stuck.  Misery gripped him, and inevitability.  Theon faded and Reek chewed his fingers in anticipation.

It had been awhile since Ramsay had flayed him last, and Reek had gotten the absurd hope that he’d learned how to be obedient now, that he was good now, and he wouldn’t have to lose another finger.  When Ramsay had had Theon, Theon had lost a lot of fingers.  Reek tried so hard to be good, but he was bad anyway.  When you were a freak, you were usually bad.  It couldn’t be fixed with trying.

The wait was overwhelming, and Reek couldn’t help but whimper as delirium set in.  When he first heard Ramsay’s boots crushing the kennel’s straw floor, the strange mixture of relief and repulsion he felt were almost impossible to bear.  At first he was frozen like a rabbit in the jaws of a cat.  Then he got on his hands and knees and crawled towards Ramsay’s footsteps, only stopping when he saw his master’s feet.  He was followed by the dogs, who barked with excitement.

Ramsay ignored him at first.  He was greeting his dogs, cheerfully.  The good dogs.  The ones who didn’t deserve to be flayed.  Reek struggled to contain himself; he didn’t want to cry.  The dogs were sent racing to the kitchens to get their breakfast.  Reek’s stomach growled halfheartedly.

When Ramsay turned back to him, he bowed his head until it scraped the floor.  He tried to utter a greeting, but only managed a whimper.

“Reek,” Ramsay said, voice icy but stained with glee.  “I hope you remember what you need today.  Do you remember?”

Reek struggled to speak.  After another small whimper, he managed: “Y-yes.  Yes my Lord.”

Ramsay didn’t say anything at first, instead poking Reek’s head playfully with his foot.  “You look especially terrible today.”  It was both teasing and accusatory.

Reek had nothing to say to that, and he wasn’t sure he could speak if he did.  He never looked at himself in the mirror if he could help it; he did not want to see.  The silence was strangling him.  The longer Ramsay waited, the harder it was for Reek to breathe.

At long last, his wait was broken.  Ramsay crouched down next to his pet and grabbed a fistful of greasy gray hair, yanking the other man’s head up to look at him.  “Last night I said I was going to flay you.  But I’ve reconsidered. What do you think about that, little Reek?  Don’t you think I’m generous?”  Ramsay’s voice was more hopeful than he probably wanted it to sound.  After another good tug, he let his prisoner’s hair go.

Reek’s entire body heaved, and he felt vomit rush up his throat.  Shuddering, he managed to swallow it back down. It slid down his throat thickly, and his mouth was sour. Shuffling closer to Ramsay, he kissed his master’s boots, unable to come up with a spoken response to this generosity.  He leaned his head on his master’s shoes, trembling with relief.

His Lord chuckled, running his hand gently over Reek’s bowed head.  Then the Bolton stood up, and he towered over the cowering shape on the floor.

“Instead, I want _you_ to pick.”  The amusement in the Bolton’s voice was obvious to the point of being painful.  “What punishment do you think is appropriate?  What do you deserve, Reek?  I am curious.”

Reek’s head jerked up to look at Ramsay, and his fingers throbbed warningly.  Ramsay had never told him to choose his own punishment before.  Fear crept back through Reek’s bones, paralyzing him.  For a while, he was too stunned to speak.  What if he was supposed to choose to be flayed?  What if choosing something else made him lose this game?  He couldn’t pick being flayed though.  He just _couldn’t._   The relief faded into dull, pounding terror.

“A game?” he asked, meekly.  “Is this a game?”

Ramsay’s voice was honeyed wine.  “If it is, it is growing very dull, my pet.”

Eyes widening, Reek opened his mouth but nothing came out.  He stuck a finger stub in his mouth and began to chew, unable to contain his nervous habit in the face of such a threat.

Ramsay sighed, and reached into his pocket where Reek knew he kept the knife.

Reek didn’t want the knife.  More than anything else, he _didn’t want it!_   He scrambled back, holding a hand out pleadingly, submissively.  “Please my Lord,” he whispered, “I’m not smart or fast.  Please.  I want to obey.”

Rolling his eyes, Ramsay nodded his ascent, but began to play with the knife: a final warning to begin.

“Beat me?” Reek suggested, after the pregnant, pathetic silence.  He mind felt like a broken bottle.  Useless, and painful to the touch.  It had been the first thing to come to him, so he had said it.  Reek didn’t want to step any further onto pieces of glass, into memories of pain worse than a beating.

“Mm,” Ramsay said.  He was unimpressed.

Ramsay was creative, and Reek was not.  Reek knew that.   “Use your belt on me?”  He paused, thinking further, churning over his options in a panic.  “Please, my Lord.  Please beat me, if it pleases you.”

He knew his punishment would have to hurt: it wasn’t a true punishment until he cried like he deserved.  But if he was good, if he listened and obeyed, he could keep his fingers.  Maybe he would even today if he was good.  Ramsay had taught Reek that, and Reek had listened.  Reek tried to be good and obey.  Theon hadn’t listened or obeyed.  That’s why Theon had gone away.

 “That’s mundane,” Ramsay told him dismissively, a malevolent smirk lingering on his face.  But the knife went back into his pocket.

Reek’s head was light with relief, but he had to think of something more to keep it away.  “Beat me like…like a child.  Scold me.  Spank me.”  He was angry with himself for his stupidity, for his lack of imagination.  He dug his long, dirty fingernails deep into his palms.

“Oh Reek, think of something more entertaining for me to do afterwards.  You do want to be entertaining, right?”

Reek lowered his head.  “Yes.  Yes, my Lord.”  He didn’t really care if he was entertaining or not; he just wanted it to be over.  But that was a reason he was bad and needed to be punished in the first place.  He should want to obey his Lord.  He should want to be as his Lord wished him to be.

“Well,” Ramsay said with wicked cheer.  “Come up with something now, hurry up.  I haven’t got all day.”  Ramsay was wearing his hunting boots, Reek realized belatedly.  Reek was grateful he was allowed to be a pet instead of prey.

When the night had been darker, when he had had more courage, he knew he hated the sight of those boots.  He knew he hated everything about Ramsay Bolton.  He knew even Reek, somewhere in that confused, stuttering brain, hated Ramsay Bolton.  But in the daylight, with the man standing in front of him, he thought differently.  His survival depended on it.

The servant wracked his brain for something worse than getting beaten, desperate to avoid a flaying.  He barely realized he was clutching his remaining fingers to his chest.  “You should use me, my Lord.  Like…like a woman.”  The words came out like the squeak of a rusty wagon, straining to move.  Cautiously he raised his head, and peered miserably at Ramsay’s nose.  Reek was too afraid of Ramsay’s eyes.

Ramsay smiled, and reached a hand out to cup his prisoner’s trembling jaw.  Then, his smile widened.  “But Reek, you can’t be punished with something you like.”  He ran his thumb along Reek’s parched lips, chuckling.  “I should flay you just for that.  But I am too kind to you.  It’s a weakness.”

Reek whimpered, blindsided by this new twist.  His momentary enjoyment of a gentle human touch vanished, and Theon rose up, unbidden.  Theon wanted to jerk away.  Theon _hated_ it; he feared the sound of Ramsay undoing his pants.  Theon hated it—but Reek had to like it.  His Lord said he did, so he must.  Reek ignored Theon—ignorant, ungrateful Theon—and nodded helplessly.

“I’m sorry, my Lord,” he whispered, eyes falling from Ramsay’s face.  “Thank you, my Lord.  Thank you for your kindness to me.”  He did like the way Ramsay held him down from behind.  He liked the way Ramsay was satiated afterwards.  How that fullness brought kind words, food, and hands ruffling his thin hair.  He liked it, he did; he nearly cringed in humiliation.

Withdrawing his hand, Ramsay smirked.  “Perhaps if you take this well, I will fuck you afterwards.”  He began to unloop his belt from his waist, curling the ominous leather around his palm.  He must have gotten bored with Reek’s stuttering and desperation.  “You would like a fuck, wouldn’t you, my little bitch?”  The words were sticky and sweet.  Ramsay’s pants began to bulge slightly around his crotch.

Chest heaving, Reek felt his eyes begin to water, unbidden.  He wanted to crawl away and curl up in the corner by himself, momentarily safe and alone.  He even wished for the dungeon, when he would be alone for days at a time.  He didn’t dare, at that moment, to think of other things he wished for.

But he couldn’t have any of them.  He had to be good and take it.  If he was just good, if he would just try harder, his Lord wouldn’t hurt him so much anymore.  The thought brought a sob to his lips.

Ramsay’s voice was suddenly cold.  “I said, you would like a good fucking, wouldn’t you, Reek?”  His lips twisted into a frown as Reek answered with tears.  In response the Bolton brought the bottom of his boot crashing into the other man’s skull.

Blinking through the flashes and the blinding, sudden pain, Reek babbled out several yeses and nodded in agreement.  His hand moved to his head, and he cringed away from his master.  “I would,” he stuttered.  “I would.”

Theon was violently angry now, both at Ramsay and at Reek, but Reek didn’t care about Theon’s anger.  Ramsay’s anger hurt more, and it hurt in more ways.

When Ramsay spoke again, he sounded calmer, but there was still an edge to his voice that made Reek shrink away.  “Get up and bend over the table.”  He gestured to a rough table just outside of Reek’s bed with the dogs.  If somebody walked by, they could see everything.  “Remember, this is what you asked for.”

Reek got to his feet, keeping his head hanging low and shoulders slumped.  His chain followed him, as miserable as he was.  “Yes, my Lord.”  He meant it to be louder, but it came out soft and shaky.  His legs were rubber as he made his way over to the table; his shoulders were stiff as he bent over and presented himself.  He curled one arm underneath him protectively, and waited.  Before Reek had been born Theon had had to be on the cross all the time because he didn’t obey.

Reek heard Ramsay approach him; felt Ramsay’s hand slide under his leg to undo his pants.  Then the cool morning air hit his bare skin as Ramsay pulled his pants down.  Fear that somebody would come by and _see him_ cut deep.  Shutting his eyes, Reek curled both his fists into balls.  He enjoyed the luxury of shame.  It was a luxury because he didn’t hurt too much to be shameless, yet.

Ramsay ran his belt teasingly over his Reek’s bare skin.  “Now, let’s make sure why we’re doing this.  So this isn’t all a waste and I have to flay you tomorrow, anyway.  You wouldn’t like that now, would you?”  He spoke to Reek like he was a bad dog, or a particularly indolent child.  “Why is this happening, Reek?”

Reek shut his eyes, forcing his damaged brain to turn.  He did so many stupid, bad things all the time.  Ramsay was angry with him all the time.  These both blended together into a vicious mass of _bad_ , just like his memories blended together into an incomprehensible jumble of gaps, and watching himself from far, far away.  He wanted to go far away now, and he hoped he would.  “Because I’m a freak and I deserve it,” he managed unhappily, knowing it was the wrong answer even before he said it.  He knew it was a specific bad, but he couldn’t remember.  Theon, he was sure, had done it.

The belt pressed menacingly against his quivering behind.  He heard Ramsay sigh in disappointment, and his heart dropped—but only halfway because it meant more hurt.  He wanted to please; he did.

“Reek, what am I going to do with you?  You spilled wine all over the floor at the feast yesterday, and it took you forever to clean it up.  Then you couldn’t find the make that I desired, and I could swear you weren’t too sorry about that.  I am disappointed, Reek.”  He really did sound disappointed.

Reek was visibly shaking now, and his throat felt raw and unusable.  Broken teeth chattered against each other painfully.  “I’m sorry, my Lord.”  He was.

He felt near tears again at what was coming, and his failure.  There was no warning as the first blow came down, hard and unmerciful.  Reek yelped, but managed to be silent as four more strokes came down.  At the sixth he whimpered, feeling his face growing hot with embarrassment.

“We are just starting,” Ramsay told him then, and brought the belt down against his servant’s thighs.  It stung, and as a second stripe came down in the same place, Reek let out a yelp.  Ramsay continued, striking him viciously.  The pain grew hot, then more unbearable.  A sob shook Reek’s slender frame, then another.  Soon he was crying, shame halfway forgotten.

Whenever Ramsay spanked him, Reek felt miserable.  His master usually allowed him more dignified beatings on his back, or indiscriminant whacks anywhere he could reach.  This was worse than those, even if the others hurt more.  For Theon the humiliation would have been unbearable, and even Reek was ashamed.

Another blow.  “Are you crying?” Ramsay asked, sounding delighted.  For a moment, the belt examined his new wounds gently, curiously.  “I’m only halfway done with you.”  Reek felt the belt poking between his thighs, rubbing against the gap in his crotch and inciting phantom sensations that completed Reek’s humiliation.

Then, Reek heard the belt singing in the air again.  When it hit him, he jumped.  His throat and mouth were getting slimy with saliva and tears.  He lay his head down against his other arm, to prevent himself from trying to protect his exposed flesh.  He knew it was worse than useless.

“You’re lucky that I am already bored.”  There was a lazy tone to Ramsay’s voice, but there was nothing lazy about his next stroke.  “You were a clever little bitch to pick this, weren’t you?  I should beat you harder just for that.”

The next time Ramsay hit him Reek’s sobbing became truly pitiful.  He wasn’t ashamed or embarrassed anymore.  If “please” did any sort of good he would have been begging, but he knew better.  His head was light with the pain, so light.  The next stroke made him see stars.  At that, Reek went away and nobody was left because Theon was gone too.

When Reek came back the beating was over, and he was gingerly pulling up his pants.  He had been crying plentifully, it seemed: when he put his hand to his face it was wet with tears.  He hurt terribly, and the new pain made the old pain in his fingers and head seem like nothing.  But at least it was over.  Weak and boney as he was, he felt on the verge of collapse.

Ramsay was stringing the horrid belt back around his waist, but he didn’t loop it back together.  Reek knew what that meant, and, eager to be pleasing now, he got on his knees without prompting.  He was grateful, he thought as he crawled to his Lord’s feet.  He was grateful Ramsay wasn’t going to take him over the table—he already hurt so much.

Far away, Theon hurt and Theon hated and Theon seethed.  That scared Reek.  The angrier Theon got, the more real Theon became, the more terrified Reek was that he would ruin everything.  The last time he’d allowed himself to _be Theon_ Ramsay had chased him through the woods with a pack of dogs.  What followed was too horrible to remember.  Because of that Reek wished Theon was really dead.  There wasn’t anything left for Theon here.

“Thank you, my Lord,” Reek stuttered.  He wasn’t sure why he said it out loud, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing to say.  Reek forced back more tears, watching Ramsay shyly.  He was happy not to be over the table anymore.  He was grateful to be at his master’s feet.

“Why?”  Ramsay asked, actually sounding slightly curious.

Reek wasn’t sure, but paradoxical gratitude was swimming through his head, overwhelming him.  Confusing him.  “Thank you for letting me serve you,” he finally responded.  “I know I am not very good.  But it’s all I want.”  He had never said that unprompted.  He thought about his pathetic escape attempt, sure it wouldn’t be the last.  Nothing in his pitiful head made sense anymore.

The look on Ramsay’s face as he examined his Reek was one of the strange ones that Reek didn’t understand. He understood Ramsay’s rage, his boredom, and his amusement.  This concoction was a befuddling mix of possession, arousal, and mystery.  But whatever it was, that look usually meant good things for Reek.  Tasty food.  Kind words.  Once, a kiss on his forehead.  Reek had cried then.

Ramsay reached his hand into his pants, easing out his aroused cock.  He gestured to Reek, and Reek knew what to do.  He’d been unskilled at first, and Ramsay had admonished him bitterly, but he had learned.  Running his tongue down Ramsay’s length, Reek took Ramsay’s tip in his mouth.  Then more.  Then everything.

Ramsay grunted approvingly, and Reek continued, sucking eagerly at his master’s penis.  He had to concentrate on not choking.  He felt Ramsay’s fingers in his greasy hair, and he was grateful that his Lord was willing to touch him, despite his stink.  He was grateful that the touch was soft.  That it didn’t hurt.

Far away, Theon hurt.  He hated the taste of Ramsay in his mouth.  He hated every part of himself.  Especially Reek.  Far away, Theon hurt too much to be alive anymore.

Reek quickened his pace, hoping to help bring his Lord closer to climax.  His master’s hips rocked forward.  Ramsay moaned, tightening his grip on his captive’s hair.  As he jerked Reek’s head back, Reek had to struggle against running his broken teeth against Ramsay’s skin.

Then, at long last, Ramsay’s body stiffened, and Reek prepared himself to swallow.  When Ramsay came with a satisfied moan, Reek took the sticky mess in his mouth.  Obediently, he swallowed, licking his lips and swallowing again.  He could not hide, however, when Theon shuddered.

Luckily, Ramsay was preoccupied with redoing his pants, and didn’t see.  Reek watched his Lord wordlessly, hope that his punishment was over building up in his chest like wildfire.  It was bad to hope, he knew.  But the mystery look, the one that foretold a kindness…he had seen it.  He knew that the gods didn’t recognize him anymore.  Otherwise, he would have prayed.

The Bolton looked down at him, then, face again masked in mystery.  Reek squirmed, anxiety and hope ripping a hole in his stomach.  “Thank you,” he gushed, desperate.  “Thank you for letting me keep my fingers.  My Lord is too kind to me.”

“You’ll be good today, now, won’t you Reek?  A good pet?”  Ramsay poked Reek’s knee with his boot, hard, but not enough to bruise.

Reek nodded eagerly.  He would.  He promised.  He would be good.  His heels dug into his buttocks, which were on fire at the touch.

His Lord pushed Reek’s pale, greasy hair away from his face as much as was possible.  Reek was shocked by how tender the touch was.  Then, Ramsay put his hand under his slave’s chin, forcing him to look up, into his eyes.

Reek had to fight not to look away.  He remembered when Ramsay had cut Theon, and what Ramsay’s eyes had looked like then.  He remembered a thousand other cruel stares.  Theon may have flinched away, but Reek was obedient.  He obeyed.  Ramsay’s eyes were possessive, and cold, but there weren’t any new evils behind them.  Not yet.

“My sweet little Reek,” he said, carelessly.  “You are mine, aren’t you?”

Reek squirmed, feeling every agony, new and old, alight to remind him.  The empty space in-between his legs throbbed, an angry reminder.  The newest punishment stung him nearly to tears.  “Of course,” he babbled, half incoherent, unable to comprehend another answer.  “Of course I am.” 

Theon could comprehend another answer.  Theon could imagine the bastard’s own flaying knife buried to the hilt in his cold, dead heart.  That was why, most of the time, Theon was dead.  Most of the time, but not always.

The grin on Ramsay’s face was one of triumph and glee.  “Would my Reek like to eat some meat today?”

Reek’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.  For a moment, he struggled to speak, terror crawling from his chest and making him mute.  If it was a game and he was wrong, more of him would hurt before the day was over.  He finally merely nodded, trembling like a leaf.  He didn’t have the capacity to play a game anymore, even if this was one.  His brain felt like it was bleeding.

Ramsay released his hold and turned away, his cloak billowing behind him as he began to walk in the direction of the horse stables.  Reek’s hope withered in his chest, a flower that hadn’t even gotten to bloom.  Maybe he would beat him more later for assuming he was worthy of Ramsay’s food.

Reek watched his master leave, getting closer to tears the farther away he got.  Theon, from some locked away place, hated Reek for wanting Ramsay to stay.  Ramsay’s taste was still in his mouth and Theon was sickened.  But Theon’s name rhymed with weak now.

Then, miraculously, Ramsay turned around, pausing halfway to the stables.  He said, as if in afterthought:  “I’ll bring some home tonight.  Be a good dog in the meantime, and you can have some too.”

Then Ramsay smiled, almost softly, before he turned away.

Reek’s chest nearly burst with gratitude and relief. 


End file.
